


Baking to Bullets

by Heza



Series: Curiosity [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Lots of pining Grimmons, Multi, Original Flavour Chex, Tucker flirts with the OC a lot, Weird Pregnancy Shit as per canon RVB
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heza/pseuds/Heza
Summary: Maranta never wanted to be a soldier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YEEEEEEEY I'm finally getting around to uploading this! Make sure you read the first part in the series, To Even the Odds, or Maranta might seem out of place. Many thanks to RoyalHeather for helping me beta this chapter! She had so many cool ideas that I'll be taking on in my writing from here on out. See yall on the other side of whatever this monstrosity will turn out to be!

_One of her earliest memories is watching her Nona knead dough._

 

**

 

“Oh! Oh, Maranta! You’re awake! Thank goodness!”

Maranta winced at the booming voice above her. Her vision was still a little blurred, with each blink becoming increasingly annoying due to eye crusties, but she recognized that shade of blue above her. “Caboose,” she said weakly as she sat up, going slowly to ease the blood rush. “What happened…? Where - where are we?”

“Well,” Caboose began, leaning back as he kneeled beside her, “I think the bomb in Church blew up? And melted all the snow and ice! That is why it is red out here, and no longer snowy.” He paused. “I do not like that it is red here. I think maybe the Red Team did this?”

Maranta groaned and put a hand to her head. “That… that doesn’t make sense. Wait –” She sat up straight with a jolt of panic. “Church blew up? No but then he – where is he? And where’s Tucker?”

“Oh, Tucker’s asleep over there.” Caboose pointed over to where Tucker lay in a heap on the ground. Maranta’s throat closed up, her heart pounding. 

“Shit – Caboose. we need to help him,” Maranta began, trying to stand up, but a firm hand pushed her back down. She looked up, expecting Church to be there, somehow okay, but instead found an older man, his hair and scruffy beard white. His tanned skin was marred with the occasional scar and the creases of age. His friendly smile, however, did not calm Maranta in the slightest, given that his man was wearing red armour.

“Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” The man clapped her shoulder, all friendly-like, before nodding over at Tucker. “I had my team of experts look your blue devil over, in order to get _this one_ –” he glared at Caboose “– to shut up. He’s fine. Probably just needs rest after our exhausting, incredibly harrowing, and all-together strange trip to the future!”

Maranta blinked several times, feeling like her brain was breaking a little. “Huh – what do you mean future – _experts?_ ”

“Great, is that what he’s calling us?”

Maranta spun her head to the side, blinking away the resulting dizziness, to see Grif and Simmons standing a little ways away. Simmons was pulling his helmet on over his head but Grif had his tucked under his arm. Great. So there were three Reds against her and Caboose. Hopefully Tucker would wake up soon…

“Can you just explain what the hell is going on?” Maranta demanded, glowering at the two of them. The effect was probably lost, given the whole helmet thing.

“Well, as far as we can tell, the blast from Church’s gut-bomb sent us forward into the future,” Simmons said, nudging at Grif to put on his helmet, who did so with a sigh as Simmons continued, “so _that’s_ why there’s no snow and ice around. The planet must have warmed up during its natural cycle, or as the sun expands and threatens to engulf us all.”

“That… that doesn’t make any sense!” Maranta looked back and forth between the Reds as Sarge left her sitting on the ground, before punching the ground in frustration. She wanted real answers, dammit!

“Don’t worry, Maranta,” Caboose said loudly. “Private Donut’s been making a play to help explain it all. And I’m in it!!”

“A… a play,” she deadpanned, looking back at Caboose. “A play about…. how Church blew up… and sent us to the future.”

“Yes!”

Maranta opened her mouth to speak when a voice groaned over the radio. Tucker’s voice. “Now hold on, little lady,” Sarge blustered as Maranta sprang up from where she was sitting to charge over to Tucker, “you should still be resting!”

Maranta ignored him as she helped Tucker up into a sitting position. “Whoa whoa, easy, easy Tucker…” she said softly, pulling back slightly. To her surprise, Grif and Simmons had also walked over. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel like shit,” Tucker groaned bluntly, sounding a little bit like he might hurl inside his helmet. “What the hell happened? Where’s Church? And… and where the hell are we?” He looked around slowly.

“We’re in the future!” Caboose popped up beside them both, startling Maranta. 

“The – the future?” 

“That’s what the Reds have come up with –”  
“The Reds? They’re here too?” Tucker looked around at all of them. “But… not Church? What about Tex? And O’Malley, Lopez, and that asshole who shot me?”

“Don’t you worry! I’ve got a way to tell you ALL the answers you seek, Tucker!” A figure in pink bounded over, his chest puffed out and hands on his hips. “It’s a work in progress, but you’ll get to say you saw a Franklin Donut Production before anyone else!”

“… Maranta, did we die and go to hell?” Tucker asked as Donut grabbed Caboose and hauled him to his feet. 

“I don’t think so… Not enough moaning.”

“I can fix that for you if you’d like.” Bless him, not even five minutes awake and he was wiggling up against Maranta’s side.

She batted his head and scooted away. “No, thank you, Tucker.”

“Lame.”

“AHEM!” Donut appeared in front of them again, arms crossed. “If the audience could please pay attention… PLAYERS, are you ready? ACTION!”

“Hello! I am the past…” Sarge began, stepping forward on a large, flat rock that they were using for a stage. 

The play was an interesting spectacle, to say the least. Sarge and Simmons seemed into their roles, but Grif was apathetic as usual. Caboose was also enthused, even if he hadn’t quite understood how scripts work.

“… How long were they rehearsing this, Jesus,” Tucker grumbled under his breath, making a show of rolling his head as Caboose’s character was called “Stupid Private Tucker.” 

“I honestly have no idea,” Maranta whispered back, shaking her head. It was hard not to be a little amused by their antics as the play dissolved into chaos. “I’m just glad the Reds decided to fool around instead of taking us out while we were unconscious.”

“Oh!” Tucker suddenly sat up straight. “Shit, that’s right! Maranta, before, before we chased after O’Malley and Lopez and the Doc, when I got blown up? My radio fucked up, and I could still hear the Reds after our plan to get them to turn off their radios.”

“… Okay, so?”

“Soooo, I heard Vic talking to Sarge! Vic! Our Command guy! Helping the Reds!” Tucker had pulled back from her, voice serious. 

Maranta felt a cold shiver run down her back. Vic aiding the Reds? “So… he’s a traitor?”

Tucker shook his head. “Maranta, I think Red and Blue is the same. I think we’re answering to the same Command.”

But that would mean the whole war was –

“CUT! That was a Franklin Donut production!” Donut stepped away from the utter mess his play had become, clearly upset. 

“Well, there, ya see?” Sarge turned towards the two of them. “Make sense?”

Maranta looked up from Tucker, pulled from the conversation. “Uh…” she said. Tucker echoed her, and Donut threw his hands up in frustration.

“You mean to tell me,” he said, voice strained, “you two didn’t pay _any_ attention to the play I made _specifically_ for you?”  
“Come on man, that play was lame,” Tucker snorted, standing up slowly. “Besides, where the hell is Church if we’re in the future?”

“… Guess he’s dead?” Simmons said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

“He’s not dead,” Tucker snapped with Caboose nodding along with him. “He’s not fucking dead, okay?” Maranta winced at the desperation in Tucker’s voice but damn if she didn’t feel it too. Church was an utter asshole, but he couldn’t be _dead_.

“Okay jeez! No need to bite my head off!” Simmons stepped back beside Grif, keeping well back from Tucker. 

“Like he could fit your big head in his mouth,” muttered Grif.

“Oh look who’s talking, fatass!” Simmons snapped back, and the conversation quickly derailed into an argument between the Reds.

“Come on, let’s get away from them…” Tucker muttered, pulling Caboose and Maranta away from the squabbling team. 

“Not too far,” Maranta warned, “we don’t know where we are. They might be Reds, but they’re also the only other people out here. We’ll survive better in a group.” She eyed Tucker. “And you said Red and Blue is the same?”

“Tucker, that’s not true,” Caboose scoffed loudly. “Red and blue are _clearly_ different colors.”

“I know that! I mean, the teams are the same! Or, we’re answering to the same Command, or something, I don’t know!” Tucker sat down on a nearby rock. “Hey, Maranta, is the air safe to breathe here? My HUD’s a little messed up.”

Maranta nodded. “Yeah, Sarge had his helmet off.”

“Thank god, I’m sweating like crazy in here!” Tucker pulled his helmet off and shook his dreads loose. “Urg,” he said, voice clear of any radio static, “that’s better.”

“I’d say ‘What if the Reds shoot you,’ but have any of us actually managed to shoot anyone and cause lasting damage yet?” Maranta snorted, pulling her own helmet off and sitting on the ground. She rested her helmet in her lap and looked over at Tucker. “Okay. So, explain this purple shit to me.”

Tucker sat, frowning. “Purple –”

“Red and Blue being the same.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Dork. And I told you. When we went to get the robot bodies for Church and Tex, my radio was still picking up the Red’s frequency. Sarge was talking to Vic, calling him Command, the whole nine yards.” He pulled Caboose down into a sitting position, as he had been looming over them both the entire time thus far. Caboose was easily the tallest soldier in the canyon.

But they weren’t in the canyon anymore, were they?

“I don’t understand,” Caboose said, frowning as he took his helmet off. “Why would Vic help the Reds? And where are Church and Tex? I do not think either Chuch or Tex is dead.”

“Yeah, I can’t see the explosion killing either of them.” Tucker shook his head. “I mean, it didn’t kill us! And they’re ghosts so… can you really kill a ghost?” Tucker scratched his head, face scrunched up in confusion. “Ah, fuck it, that’s a question I don’t want to think about too much. Back to the main point: our entire military careers have been a sham.”

Maranta looked down, turning her helmet so that she could stare at its visor. “I’d really rather hope not. I’m supposed to be giving all my paycheque money to my mum and sisters.”

“Our paychecks were real,” Tucker said quickly, “don’t worry. I don’t think they could get away with not paying us. I’m sure your family still got theirs.”

“Oh good,” Caboose breathed out, “cause, I’ve been getting letters from my sisters, about all the things they’ve bought, like a new water filter? And I’d hate to tell them they had to go back to drinking gross moon-dust water again.”

“But,” Maranta interjected, still frowning, “I went to a proper recruitment centre. Had all sorts of UNSC officials. Why would they pit two forces against each other?”

“Not just two – there’s all sorts of different Red and Blue bases, right?”

“Oh yes.” Caboose nodded. “Sarge and I found one when we were looking for O’Malley! It was… a scary place.”

“Right…” Maranta said slowly, tapping her helmet with a finger. “But still, _why?_ And why would the UNSC recruit people only to send them on… on utterly useless missions?” Her voice started rising. “Last I checked, we weren’t exactly doing well against the Covenant!”

“Jeez, can you stop yelling?” Tucker batted at her, frowning. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what’s going on, just that something is really, really fucked up. And, I think, it’s why that asshole in the white armor is after me.”

“So because you stumbled upon a big secret someone, possibly the government or military, is trying to kill you.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Maranta sighed, biting her lip. “Honestly, I’ve never been one for conspiracy theories, but the fact is –”

“This shit’s strange,” Tucker finished for her, his look darkening. “We need to figure out what’s going on, stat. And avoid that sniper. And make sure Red Team doesn’t suddenly want to kill us.”

“Gee, that doesn’t sound hard at all!” Maranta looked over at Caboose, who had a look of intense concentration on his face. “You need help understanding, Caboose?”

Caboose nodded slowly.

“Tucker found out that the _real_ bad guys aren’t the Reds, but doesn’t know who exactly yet, and because of that, someone wants to kill him for it.” 

“Ah. I guess I can see why that would be bad.” Caboose nodded slowly again, but also shrugged his shoulders. 

“You guess? Dammit, Caboose –” Tucker began, half-standing to yell, Maranta standing with him to calm him down, when they were interrupted by Sarge approaching them.

“Blue Team! Me and my men are going to do some reconnaissance in the area. If you would do us a favor and either A) not follow us and try to sabotage us, or B), drop dead so we don’t have to deal with you at all! In fact, feel free to pick option B. It is, by far, the best possible option, with the best possible outcome for Red Team! That will be all!” Sarge saluted, shoved his helmet on, and marched off.

“… So, we’re gunna find a nice cliff and spy on them, right?” Tucker asked, watching Sarge direct his men.

“We’ll have to make do without the sniper rifle, but yes. Yes, we are.” Maranta helped Caboose to his feet. “Who knows, maybe they’ll find something useful?”

 

**

 

“I can’t believe they not only managed to find a Warthog, but one in working condition, only to get it stuck within two hours.” Tucker handed the binoculars over to Maranta, shaking his head. “What a bunch of dumbasses.”

Maranta looked over as Grif and Simmons, having given up on pushing the Warthog out of the shade, rested against it. Grif slid down into the dirt, hanging his head, then snapped his head up and whacked at Simmons’s leg. Sarge made some exaggerated motion, and both Grif and Simmons stood again, and, with some effort, the Red Team managed to push the Warthog back into the sunlight. She giggled softly, lowering the binoculars. “Dunno, maybe they did it on purpose. They _were_ just sitting there together for at least…what, half an hour before the rest of the Reds showed up?”

“Yeah, about that much. They were being pretty buddy-buddy, huh?” Tucker grinned and elbowed Maranta. “Wanna bet they made out? I bet they _totally_ made out.”

Maranta snorted. “Naw,” she said, shaking her head, “there’s some hard mutual pining between them, but I bet at least one of them is in denial about it. Or even both of them. There’s no way they’re aware that they should just kiss and get it done with already.”

“I ship it,” Caboose agreed and nodded seriously, his freckled face somehow already marked red from the dirt around them.

“You know who else should kiss and – umph!” Tucker’s face scrunched up as Maranta placed her whole hand over his face. 

“Hush. I heard my radio.” Maranta pulled away from him and reached over to her helmet, the faint buzzing of the radio coming from it. 

As she placed it over her head she heard “– message from Tex! I repeat, there has been a message from Agent Texas on the Warthog long-range radio!”

Maranta jumped to her feet, jostling Caboose, who had been leaning against her and causing him to fall. “Tex! They have a message from Tex,” she shouted. And where there was Tex…

“Church! Is Church with her?” Caboose scrambled up to his feet, knocking down Tucker, bounding up to Maranta. 

Maranta took his hands, trying to calm him. “I don’t know – hurry, put on your helmet and let’s get down there.” 

 

“Wow, you guys sure came quickly,” Donut commented as Maranta, Tucker, and Caboose came to a skidding stop nearby. 

“Yeah that’s… odd…” Simmons noted, his frown evident in his voice. “Where you guys sp –”  
“Where is Church?” Caboose ran up, a whole head taller than Simmons, as he flapped his hands excitedly. “Is he with the scary lady? Did he send a message too? Did he ask about me? Does he miss me?”

“Wow, slow down there son.” Sarge put himself between flabbergasted Simmons and lost puppy Caboose. “No, there’s been no word from Church. Just Tex. She _has_ found O’Malley and the Doc, and, most importantly, Lopez!”

“Oh. Those people are not Church.” Caboose hung his head, and Maranta could hear him sniffle through the radio.

“Oh, Caboose.” Maranta came up beside him and placed her hand at his elbow. “We’ll find him. If Tex is alive, then there’s a good chance that he is too! Don’t give up hope.”

Caboose nodded, though he still hung his head. Maranta patted him gently, then looked back to the Reds. “So, what’s our game plan?” 

“Err, to do what, exactly?” Sarge shifted in the dirt, giving the distinct impression of side-eyeing the hell out of her. 

“To go find Tex, of course!” Tucker cut across Maranta, huffing. “What else could we be talking about?”

“I don’t know! We are most certainly not coming up with a brilliant and cunning plan to distract you while we get our robot back!” Sarge shuffled awkwardly, holding his shotgun close to his chest. 

Grif sighed and shook his head. “Let’s just focus on this signal right? Now, _I_ think we can find where Tex is via _triangulation…_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to RoyalHeather for helping me edit this into something that's legible! <3 And many many thanks to those who kudosed and left comments! You're all the best. <3 <3 <3

_“Daddy has to go help protect Earth, and all the colonies. Don’t worry. I’ll be back whenever I can.”_

 

The M12 Light Reconnaissance Vehicle, commonly referred to as the “warthog,” had seating for three. A driver, a passenger, and a space usually reserved for cargo that some unlucky sod could sit in, when they weren’t manning the turret. 

Somehow, they had managed to fit Grif, Sarge, Simmons, Donut, Tucker, Caboose, and Maranta in one. It wasn’t pretty. Grif, as the driver, was the only one who didn’t have someone in his lap. Sarge refused to sit near to, next to, or on to a Blue, so he had actually gotten up on top of the turret, straddling the thing like a damn horse. Simmons was seated next to Grif, with an almost too-gleeful Donut riding his lap. 

That left Tucker, Caboose, and Maranta to work out how to fit the three of them in the back. Eventually Maranta and Caboose had managed to squeeze in next to each other, with Tucker riding the bumper and holding on for dear life. 

That decision had much to do with the intense eyebrow waggling and tongue… thing… Tucker had done when he suggested Maranta sit on _his_ lap.

The warthog soared over a bump and landed hard with Sarge yelling a loud “YEEHAWW,” causing Tucker to nearly fly off it if it weren’t for the quick and strong hands of Caboose. “Jesus fucking Christ, Grif, can you drive more carefully?!”  
Grif gave a dismissive wave, not taking his eyes from the road. “Sorry, can’t hear you!”

“I’m talking to you on the radio, asshole!”

Maranta turned, as best she could, and tapped Grif’s shoulder. “Come on, man, if he falls off again we’re just going to have to turn around to get him and waste yet more time. Just… take the bumps a bit more gently, please?” she asked, also hoping for the sake of Caboose’s nervous stomach that Grif would slow down.

Grif sighed and nodded, the warthog slowing down a few clicks. 

Maranta turned back around, taking a breath, and saw a small notification on her HUD. A message from Tucker. 

_Thanks 4 looking out 4 me babe ;) ;)_

Maranta rolled her eyes and shot back a message.

_I just don’t want to listen to you complain about a sore tailbone for another three hours. And Caboose has nearly thrown up twice._

_Just admit it, ur crazy for me._

_Then again, I could just kick you off the back myself. :p_

Tucker whipped his head around to face her. “You _wouldn’t_.”

Maranta gave a lazy shrug. “Why, whatever are you talking about, Tucker? I didn’t say anything, did I Caboose?”

Caboose shook his head. “You did not! Tucker, are you listening with the wrong ears again?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Tucker deadpanned. “You know what I mean.”

Maranta grinned beneath her helmet. On the long trip thus far, teasing Tucker had been a good form of entertainment. “I dunno, I think it sounds like you were hearing things again.”

Tucker grumbled, adjusting his grip on the warthog’s panelling. “Come on, Maranta, all this ‘cause I asked if you wanted to sit in my lap?”

She snorted, resisting the urge to bump his head in fear of knocking him off. “Uh-huh, Tucker, that’s exactly why.”

“Besides, where would I sit then?” Caboose piped up. “Maranta and I only fit side by side because she is much smaller than me. And I could not sit on the bumper! What if my feet dragged?”

Tucker glanced down. His own feet were dangerously close to the ground speeding away beneath them, and he adjusted so that they were a little higher up. “Look, I’m just saying, I could hold you during the bumpy parts! Be your seat belt for when Grif’s terrible driving flips the car.”

“Fuck off, Blue,” came Grif’s voice over the radio, holding up his hand in a lazy one-finger salute.

“Seriously,” Tucker muttered through a private channel, “is he really the best driver here?”

“None of the other Reds drive standard, apparently,” Maranta said dryly, “and Sarge wouldn’t let any of us drive, remember?”

Tucker let his head hang. “Urg, Christ, right. I’ve never seen a man so offended by someone offering to drive.”

“I am a very good driver,” Caboose piped up. “On the Moon, you have to be. It’s veeeeery easy to end up upside down in a moon buggy. And then, you get moon dust in your pants. Very. Uncomfortable.” Maranta felt him shudder and shift, as if the memory itself was enough to make him itch. Then he wrapped his arms around Maranta, squeezing. “And do not worry, Tucker! I have a very good grip on Maranta! She will not fall.”

“Thanks, Caboose.” Maranta patted his arm, trying to get him to stop squishing her ribs. “Tell you what, Tucker. Tomorrow, I’ll ride the bumper and you can ride in Caboose’s lap.”

“You know, I think I’m good here. It’s cozy –”

The warthog flew over another hill, and Tucker groaned as they thumped back down. “Fuck, I think I landed on my ballsack.”

Maranta laughed, not unkindly, and said, “Maybe for the sake of future children you should switch spots.” 

_Maranta plz_ _:c_ Tucker sent.

 

As the sun began to set low in the sky, and the red, rocky land around them steadily grew sandier, they stopped for the night. They didn’t have a lot of supplies between them, but a warm fire and the pack of spices Maranta had with her was all she needed to make her, Tucker’s, and Caboose’s MREs into something more edible. “Here,” she said reaching for Caboose and Tucker’s portions after they had been handed out, “let me see those.”

“You gunna cook out here?” Tucker asked, blinking but handing his over. 

“Yeah.” Maranta nodded, taking Caboose’s. “It won’t be anything like back in the canyon though. There at least we have pots, running water, canned goods…”

“Dude, I’m not gunna complain. If you can make these things even half as good as you made at Gulch, I might just cry.”

She laughed, sitting down on the ground by the fire and resting the MERs on her helmet. “Just watch and learn, Tucker. I’ll teach you guys how to be good field cooks yet!”

“I would like that.” Caboose sat next to her, watching intently with his chin in his hands. “I don’t want to burn any more pots at Blue Base, if you are not able to cook.”

“Okay, so.” Maranta looked over the packets. Each was a different meal, which offered the most to work with. “I start with putting all the meats together, then the veggies, then grains, depending on what the MRE has. If you can, always have a packet of spices on you. I’ve got a spice blend,” she held up a small baggie, “I had shipped from home. Even if it’s just pepper, it’ll make things less bland. Try not to use salt though - these things can already have a lot…”

She went through the motions, going slowly and letting Caboose help her. Slowly, each meal was looking much more appetizing than it had been before.

“Uh, whatcha doing there?” 

The three of them looked over. There stood Grif, having walked over from the Reds’ fire – because of course Sarge would insist on having a separate fire – looking both curious and hungry. 

“I’m cooking,” Maranta explained, gesturing towards the MREs. “Well, as close to cooking as I can do here. Adding spices in and mixing bits and pieces from each MRE to make them tasty.”

“Cool. Can you cook mine too?” Grif sat down heavily on the ground, handing his MRE to Maranta.

“Uh, screw off, Red.” Tucker swatted at him. “This isn’t your campfire.”

“Come on, Tucker, it’s fine.” Maranta took the MRE from Grif’s hand, giving Tucker a look. “And Red and Blue are the same, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s still a _Red_.” Tucker scowled but stopped whacking Grif’s knee.

Grif got comfy, leaning back on his hands. “Hey, if you believing in his weird conspiracy theory means I get a better meal out of it, I’m willing to take it all the way. Maybe I’ll take the Doc’s armor when we rescue him. Think he’ll mind?”

Tucker opened his mouth, perhaps to argue that he wasn’t a crazy conspiracy theorist, when Simmons stomped over, standing above Grif with his hands on his hips. “What the hell are you doing, Grif?”

“Uh, getting dinner ready, what’s it look like?” Grif looked at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, pointing towards Maranta.

“You’re eating with the Blues!” Simmons hissed, glancing about like he had been caught doing something illegal. “What if Sarge sees?”  
Grif shrugged, nonchalant. “Eh, so what? He was already complaining that I took up too much space next to the fire. Now I don’t have to sit next to him, and I get a good meal to boot? Sounds like a win to me.”

“You do know our campfires are literally only ten feet apart, right?” Maranta looked over to the other fire, where Sarge and Donut still sat. Sarge was glaring daggers, but Donut seemed curious.

“I still do not know why we did not build one big fire,” Caboose mused. “A bigger fire is way better because then we can roast bigger marshmallows!”

“Caboose, we don’t have any marshmallows to roast,” Tucker pointed out, rolling his eyes.

Maranta shook her head and turned her attention to the Reds. “Anyway, I don’t mind helping cook your MREs into something better too. Are you interested?”

Sarge shook his head vigorously. “Never! You might be a good cook, little lady, but I will never, and I mean NEVER, take food that’s been touched by a Blue!”

“Count me in!” Donut sprang up from his spot, enthusiastically coming over and handing Maranta his MRE. “I can’t tell you how tired I am of bland food. It’s like these barbarians have never heard of paprika!”

“Traitor!” Sarge yelled, gesturing wildly. “I expect such insubordination from Grif, but from you, Donut?”

Donut smiled, cheeky and mischievous. “What can I say, Sarge, I’m a sucker for a properly cooked juicy sausage!”

Maranta checked his MRE. Sure enough, there were some Italian sausages in it. She looked up at Simmons, smiling. “Well, do you want to join our fire? It’s really no trouble.”

To her surprise, Simmons’s face, the parts that weren’t metal plating anyway, blushed red. “Ah – um – I couldn’t –” he floundered, and Maranta slowly lowered her hand that had been ready to take his MRE, should he offer.

Tucker leaned forward, frowning. “Uh, what’s with him?” he asked Grif, pointing at Simmons.

“Oh, ever since Maranta took off her helmet and he’s been forced to realize that he’s gotta talk to a _girl_ to talk to her, Simmons hasn’t been able to say two words to or about her without choking,” Grif said around a mouthful of food (where had he gotten that? She was still holding his MRE). “What a nerd, am I right?”

“Shut up, Grif, that isn’t true!”

“Oh yeah?” Grif lowered his fork. “Go on then. Ask Maranta if you can sit here.”

“Um –” Simmons instantly flubbed again, glancing at Maranta. 

“Go on. Do it.”

Simmons stared for a full thirty seconds before making a strangled squeak and returning to his and Sarge’s fire, burying his face in his MRE.

Grif snickered. “What’d I tell you? Fucking nerd.” There was a fair amount of affection in his tone despite his words, Maranta noted.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t mind cooking for you and Donut. Though I feel like I should clarify, I’m not cooking, not really. You should have seen what I was doing at Blue Base with a full pantry.” She smiled as she set to work, using parts of Grif’s and Donut’s MRE to replace Caboose’s meal which Grif had apparently taken.

“Hey, think I could come to dinner at Blue Base then?” Grif asked, almost bouncing excitedly. 

“Oh, me too, me too!” Donut’s hand shot enthusiastically into the air. “All we have at Red Base is motor oil and ketchup.”

“Yes!” Caboose yelled before Maranta could answer, matching Donut and Grif’s excitement. “That would be so much fun! And Church will be so happy to make new friends.”

“Caboose, please stop yelling,” said Tucker with a wince. He took the meal Maranta handed to him, his brows furrowed. “I dunno,” he said, “do we have the resources to feed them too?”

Maranta made a little “eh” motion with her hand. “Assuming you’re exaggerating about the motor oil, you guys could bring some supplies over with you, to help out?”

Grif snorted. “Assuming we can sneak it past Sarge. But hell, it’d be worth it.” He took another mouthful of food, closing his eyes and sighing. “I’d take this over the slop we’ve been having any day. Who taught you to do this?”

“My dad,” Maranta said, her voice soft, as she gave Donut his dinner, then sat back with her own. “He used to tell me horror stories about some of the worst MREs. Ever heard of ‘the lung?’”

As Donut and Grif shook their heads, Maranta saw Caboose make a gagging face from the corner of her eye and she smiled. She had told this story before.

“Well, it’s one older menu items among Canadian branches of the UNSC. It’s a ham omelette but it’s roughly shaped like a lung, and it’s all rubbery. Taste like… well, I won’t use his exact language, but it’s pretty foul,” Maranta laughed. “Apparently, my dad once was stationed at a place where, because none of them liked it, they had eaten all the other meals already. My dad was eating those for nearly a month solid.”

“Oh god.” Donut made a face, crinkling his nose. “Sounds terrible.”

“It was pretty bad.” She grinned around her fork. “Anyway, because of that, Dad learned to make the best with a bad situation, and taught me some tricks. Helps that I’ve always enjoyed cooking anyway.”

“I’m sure as hell glad he passed on that wisdom to you.” Grif nodded. “Where’s he stationed at now?”

“Ah.” Maranta’s smile fell. “He was killed in action a few years ago.”

The mood at the campfire sobered up instantly, Grif holding his fork half way up to his mouth and Donut putting a hand over his heart. Beside her, Caboose reached out and squeezed her elbow, like she had so often done for him. 

“Thanks, Caboose,” she said softly. “I’m fine.” Maranta looked about at the others, taking a breath. “I mean, it fucking sucks, you know? But I’m fine.”

Grif nodded, and resumed eating, much to Maranta’s relief. She didn’t want to dance around the subject, per say, but she didn’t want to make a huge deal out of it. It’d only upset her more. 

 

Once the fire had burned to embers and the meal finished, Grif and Donut stood to return to their side of the camp. “Thanks for the meal, Blue,” Grif said, nodding in Maranta’s direction.

“Seriously!” Donut echoed him, grinning. “I think I had forgotten what pepper tasted like. And that sauce was a salty surprise on my tongue. Mm-mm-mm!” 

“Gross,” Tucker groaned. 

“Yeah, Donut, please don’t,” Grif sighed. “Really though, if it weren’t for the fact Sarge would literally shoot me, I’d kiss you.”

“Well _I_ have no such qualms!” And before Maranta could react Donut had leaned down and pressed an affectionate kiss to her forehead. 

She blinked, surprised, leaning back and giving her head a little shake. “Oh! Well, thanks guys…!” She could feel her cheeks heat up and heard Grif snicker softly. Damn her pale skin!

“Whaaaaat, how come Donut can kiss you but I can’t?” Tucker asked and, from the tone of his voice, he was only half-faking his offence. 

“Difference: Donut gave _me_ as kiss, you want me to kiss _you,_ ” Maranta scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. 

“Sorry, dude,” Grif continued to snicker. “Guess Maranta’s more into pink than… whatever the fuck color you are. Toothpaste?”

“It’s. AQUA.” Tucker gritted his teeth. “Whatever, go back to your base. I mean camp. That’s ten feet away. Ah! Whatever.” 

Grif laughed as he left, even as Sarge shouted at both him and Donut for their “betrayal.” Maranta could only shake her head as she began to clean up their camp.

Caboose was right beside her, picking up little bits of litter that had found its way to the ground, practically beaming. “Oh, Maranta, that was so much fun! I really liked having more people here.”

“Yeah?” she asked, covering what was left of the fire in dirt and sand. “That wasn’t too overwhelming for you?”  
He shook his head, his mop of curls flopping around his head. “No, Grif isn’t very loud. And I really like Eclair-“ 

“Donut.”

“I really like Donut. He is fun, and likes to talk to me too! We play such good games together. He plays a real mean ‘Go Fish.’” Caboose nodded, his voice dropping in pitch as it did when he was trying to be serious.

Maranta smiled. Since getting to know him, she had really come to appreciate Caboose. He wasn’t “dumb,” like so many people thought, just easily overwhelmed. She could sympathize. “Glad to hear it, Caboose.”

“I don’t like them,” came Tucker’s sullen voice. He was seated by their camp, scowling still.

Maranta gave a long sigh. “Seriously? Are you gunna sulk about Donut kissing my forehead now?”

Tucker made a grumpy sound, not looking her way. He sounded more _hurt_ than insulted, which surprised her.

Looking him over, trying to read him, Maranta approached. “Look. It surprised me, and I was able to tell with Donut he was just being… I dunno. Affectionate? But normally I’m not… I’m not really…” She tapped her hands together, looking for the right words. “I’d prefer not to. Let’s leave it at that. But shit, man,” she lightly whacked his arm, “you and Caboose are pretty much my closet friends right now okay? We’ve been, what, almost a year together now? Just cause I don’t wanna kiss you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“ _Urg,_ miss me with that all sappy bullshit.” Tucker rolled his eyes, but Maranta heard the subtle change in his voice. He might not want to admit it, but Maranta felt like she and Caboose were pretty important to him too.

 

And so was Church. She really hoped they’d find him with Tex. She missed him too. They all did.

 

**

 

 

Maranta had seen the ocean before, but that didn’t stop it from being beautiful. She almost didn’t notice Grif stopping the warthog and calling out, “All right, we’re here!”

“Finally!” Tucker groaned as he almost flopped out of the warthog, landing heavily on the sand. “I think my nuts have gone to sleep.”

“Oh! You should let them nap. Sleep is very important.” Caboose stretched as he clambered out of the vehicle. 

“Not like that, Caboose,” Tucker deadpanned. 

“Would you two shut your mouths?” Sarge climbed down from the turret, grumbling as he settled onto the ground. “We’re in enemy territory! You’re going to drag them down onto our heads!”

“ _You’re_ telling _us_ to shut up? You’re the one shouting!” Tucker countered.

“How about we all just be quiet, please,” Grif pleaded. “Seriously, I’ve had to listen to your chatter the entire way here, and I’m sick of it.” 

“Where is here, exactly, you think?” Simmons asked, looking around the beach. “I’m surprised we’re by the ocean. Considering where we woke up, I thought this planet had no water at all. Global warming and all that.”

Maranta walked around the warthog up to the edge of the surf. If it weren’t for the fact they had a mission to do, she would have stripped out of her armour to go stand in the water. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she loved the water all the same. “Maybe Tex knows the name of this place,” she said as she looked out over the water. “We need to find her. The sooner we find her, the sooner we find O’Malley and Doc.”

“And Lopez’s head!” Sarge chimed in, fetching his shotgun and holding it at the ready.

“And Church! We can’t forget Church.” Caboose was doing small hand flaps, his excitement barely contained. “Where there is Tex, Church is bound to be there.”

“Well, he’s bound to be _trying_ to get there,” Tucker pointed out with a wry chuckle. “She doesn’t exactly put up with his bullshit remember? He’s like ‘Tex, I love you!’ and she responds with –”

“What the hell are you guys doing? Stop standing out in the open!” 

They collectively jumped as Tex’s voice came over the radio, terse and irritated, but she was nowhere in sight.

“Where the devil is she?” Sarge whipped his head about, shotgun clutched to his chest like a protective blanket. 

“She’s got that camo unit, remember?” Tucker pointed out, almost dragging Caboose with a hand on his elbow over towards the base of a cliff side, out of view of the fortress looming nearby. “Come on, let’s go talk to her.”

 

Sure enough, once they had all gathered further down the beach, Tex shimmered into view, her black armour stark against the yellow-white sands of the beach. Her arms were folded over her chest, her head cocked to the side, and she gave the distinct impression of disappointment. “About time you got here. What took you so long?”

“Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s seven of us,” Grif pointed out. “And the warthog seats _three_.” He jerked his thumb towards where they had parked it, further down the beach. “I had Sarge literally riding the turret and three Blues hanging off my bumper. Give me a break.”

“I thought it was a lot of fun!” Donut piped up, wrapping an arm around Grif’s shoulders. “It was a great road trip. My favorite part was when Grif tried to change gears and he accidentally grabbed Simmons’ –”

“Aaaand that’s enough of that.” Grif put his hand over Donut’s face and shoved him backwards. Donut made a sound of protest as he stumbled back and fell on his butt in the sand.

“Whatever, at least we’re here now, right?” Tucker shrugged. “So, is O’Malley and the Doc in there?”

“What about Church?” Caboose cut in before Tex could confirm. “Is he with you?”

“Wait–” Tex glanced about them again, her hands falling from her chest. “You mean he isn’t with you?”

Maranta shook her head. “No, he wasn’t with us when we woke up. I’m worried that his body might have been damaged badly… The bomb was literally in his gut.” She shot Sarge a bit of a glare through her helmet. Who puts bombs into robot stomachs? Seriously.

Tex glanced her way, though said nothing, and shook her head. “Crap. Fine, we’ll move on without him.”

Caboose made a soft whine and lowered his head, his whole body drooping. Tucker awkwardly patted his arm. “I… I’m sure he’ll turn up.” But Maranta could hear the slight tremor in his voice.

“We are all very sad about your blue ghost friend,” Sarge stepped forward. “But what about O’Malley? And the Doc? And our Mexican robot!”

“Well, I’m not too sure about any robots, but O’Malley is definitely here.” Back on track, Tex assumed her tough and ready stance. “I did some scouting and confirmed it. I’m sending you all the pictures I took now.”

Maranta’s HUD lit up and in the bottom right corner opened a file containing several images. “Damn,” she murmured as she scrolled through them. Several contained shots of Doc’s purple armour. “You got far in, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing about an active camouflage unit. Makes it real hard to see me.” There was a hint of amusement in Tex’s voice. “But, since you guys don’t have that, getting us all in won’t be easy. There’s two walls to get by, one of which has a giant spinning fan –”

“That thing?” Simmons snorted. “That’s moving like half a mile an hour!”

“Well, if you let me finish,” Tex growled, causing Simmons to take a half step behind Grif, “you’d know that’s not the real trouble. There’s cameras, and several turrets. O’Malley’s somehow found himself a couple lackies already. They’ll have the high ground. But, once we deal with them, we’ll be inside the core of this place.”

“And that’s when we take out O’Malley, right?” Tucker asked, bringing up his gun.

“No.” Tex shook her head. “That’s when we plant this.” And, stepping back, she revealed a round object, about the size of a bowling ball, carefully set upon a stand.

“… A volleyball!” Caboose gasped and bounced. “We’re going to spike O’Malley!”

Tex took a breath. “It’s not a volleyball,” she said patiently, “it’s a _bomb_. And we’re going to blow up this whole fortress and O’Malley with it.” Maranta saw her fist clench. “I’m not letting him get away from me again.”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on a second.” Tucker stepped forward, head tilted. “You scouted this whole place.”

“Uh, yeah, Tucker, I already said that,” Tex sighed. “You weren’t listening?”

“No, I was listening. It’s just… you’re telling me that you got past both walls, the gunmen, the cameras, and O’Malley? And you didn’t plant the bomb? Why the hell not?” Tucker shook his head. “It makes no sense! Why do you need our help? You’ve clearly got this.”

Tex slowly turned her head towards Tucker. “Oh, you mean why didn’t I carry a highly dangerous explosive device while trying to carry my gun, sneaking past turrets, cameras, gunmen, and O’Malley? I’m a badass, not a dumbass, you idiot!” She huffed, standing tall, almost looming over Tucker despite him being over ten feet away.

“Right,” he said meekly. “Fair enough.”

“Seriously…” Tex shook her head and turned away from Tucker. “Point is, I need your help. The smallest mistake here and O’Malley escapes. I won’t let that happen. So, are you guys with me or not?”

“Um… Miss Tex,” Caboose said softly. His hand was raised above his head. “Afterwards, can you help us find Church? You see, I miss him very much. And I am sure he misses me too. And you too! And Maranta. Maybe Tucker –”  
“Caboose, can you not –”

“He is probably very lonely. And I know, he’d be happy to see you.” Caboose finished with a nod.

Maranta could have sworn she heard Tex chuckle under her breath. “All right, tell you what. You help me, I’ll help you find Church. Deal?” She crossed over to him and held out a hand, her voice warm.

“Oh! Yes! Thank you, Tex.” Caboose took her hand and _shook_ it, his enthusiasm resulting in a wild arm movement that could jolt a normal person’s shoulder right out of their socket.

“Ah, Caboose, careful…” Maranta put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. 

“It’s fine. Robot, remember?” Tex sounded smug. “So, let’s talk plans.”

 

Planning the assault on the fortress proved difficult. This was largely because each of Sarge’s plans were more ridiculous than the last, each one involving some ghastly way of killing Grif. Grif eventually just walked away, grumbling as he did so.

But with Maranta keeping Tucker and Caboose in check, and Simmons and Donut actually paying attention, they came up with a solid plan.

“Here you go, Caboose.” Tex carefully handed him the bomb, which almost seemed to have a soft glow of light to it. It pulsed slowly.

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to let Caboose handle a bomb?” Tucker said softly to Maranta, watching with his arms folded uncomfortably over his chest. He had been edge since Tex had yelled at him.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine…” Maranta whispered back, though she was worried too. Not that she doubted Caboose, she had utter faith in him, but because this was seriously dangerous! “He’ll be with the Reds, remember?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” Tucker grunted.

“Now don’t you worry your little heads about it.” Sarge suddenly came between them, Maranta’s heart skipping a beat. “We’ll take good care of your blue bastard, I suppose.”

“You suppose? What does that mean?” Tucker straightened up to stand tall over Sarge, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t guarantee his safety in the heat of battle,” Sarge barked. Then he shrugged. “But I can promise you this. No one will die, at least not before Grif. I’ll see to that myself.”

“Gee, thanks so much, Sarge,” Grif drawled as he approached. “Glad to hear that you’ll be looking out for us out there.”

“Man.” Tucker shook his head, suddenly looking tired as his body sagged. “I miss the old days. When you guys were just a bunch of nameless assholes and I would yell at you with Church, and Maranta would bring me food.”

Grif patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, man,” he said, fake sniffling as Tucker shoved him off. “I hate you too!”

“All right, is everyone ready?” Tex called out. Caboose cradled the bomb close to his chest, almost protectively. He didn’t even wave as people looked his way! 

“We’re ready, Tex,” Maranta replied with a nod. Her heart beat hard in her chest, and she wasn’t sure she was as ready as she was pretending to be. O’Malley was dangerous, but in the body of an innocent man. But if they didn’t stop him, and O’Malley got away… What damage could a violent, angry AI do to the known universe?

“Good.” Tex nodded, removing her gun from the mag-strip on her back. “Then let’s blow this cockbite sky high.”


End file.
